


Something not Quite Familiar

by tactical_anxiety



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Anthology, Character Study, Drabble Collection, Gen, Guns of Gamara, Multi, Sven is here and he's okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-20 02:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18983350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tactical_anxiety/pseuds/tactical_anxiety
Summary: "They looked at me and knew me. I looked at them and did not."Sven's musings and existentialisms after coming face to face with the people that he should know as friends and family. All this and a war to win for the prosperity of the known universe.The mid-battle shock from the previous mission came back full force. They looked the same as always, but now Sven could see in the faces of his friends and teammates, the otherworlders, the paladins.





	Something not Quite Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy! As one of the many aspects of the show that never gets brought up again or is barely used, the alternate reality introduced is a major point of interest for me. This is a deep introspection on both the cannon characters and the alternate characters. It's an exercise in creating new characters while still keeping the core qualities of the cannon characters. This fic will definitely not be a fully linear narrative.
> 
> Preemptively...  
> Sven - Shiro  
> Youra - Keith, it's a mix of Yourak and Akira  
> Pidge - Shorty  
> Lance - Leandro McClain  
> Hunk - Herron, cuz it's Spanish for Iron and stuffs

No matter what corner of the universe, no matter which planet, hospitals never seemed to change. The smell of antiseptic and bright white environment overcome all alien differences. Even here, pieces of white twist their way into the dull gunmetal and greens.

Thank whatever deity was listening that the wound wasn’t fatal, that it didn’t warrant a visit to an actual space hospital. Don’t misunderstand, it still fucking hurt.

Sven didn’t wake up with a fluttering of eyelids. Instead he let out a horrendous, dying man’s groan. He found no inch of him cared about any other patients in the Guns of Gamara medicine ward as he let out another, more high-pitched groan. Though the first roar alerted the medical staff to Sven’s consciousness, the second one had them diverting their path to other patients. Sven was left to wake up on his own.

It took strength and poor thinking to push himself on to his elbows and lean back onto the propped pillow. The action leaving Sven faint and the pulling of the bandages on his chest had black spots dancing in his vision. Sven thought better of attempting to remove any of the medical equipment attached to him, looking down on himself instead.

There were a smathering of wires protruding from the life sign monitor inserted into his wrist and connected to the equipment around his cot. Though covered by the hospital gown he was wearing, Sven could feel the cold gel and bandages over his chest. The smaller wraps over his arms seemed superficial, but not out of place for a near death experience.

Discharge came quickly, but active duty was still far off. The lackluster medical ward marked the ship as a tertiary command center. The majorly outer-planetary medical staff had argued to give Sven’s human body four phoebs to heal outside of the ward, and another two to rest his mind.

He appreciated the personal room they transferred him to, but not the time. The time for healing left Sven’s body happy, but the greater portion of him feared the idle vargas. He feared thinking on what he met. Who he met.

A knock on his temporary quarters startled Sven from his existential thoughts before they had the time to properly form. Sven heafted himself from his cot, wincing at the bandages pulling at his chest. 

Before the door had even finished sliding up to fully open, a small body slammed itself against him. The action nearly causing Sven to lose his footing. Despite the surprise, Sven went to wrap his own arms equally around the form.

“Ah, Shorty,” he cooed.

Two more figures pushed their way into the room and onto Sven, though they were more careful as to not hurt him further. At least until Herron decided to lift the lot of them into the air.

Gently back on the ground, Sven found his destructive thoughts returning. The faces of his friends and teammates giving him chills. 

The mid-battle shock from the previous mission came back full force. They looked the same as always, but now Sven could see in the faces of his friends and teammates, the otherworlders, the paladins. 

Sven now understood why he took the gun shot meant for the paladin in blue, he questioned it in the time he was conscious after that moment.

Sven would take a bullet any time for Leandro McClain. In a sense, he did.

The blue paladin was the near spitting image of the McClain that Sven knew and grudgingly loved. There were differences, yes, Sven’s team seemed to have a few years on those of their counterparts. Sven could almost see how the younger paladins would grow into those he called family. 

He dared not let any sign of his unease reach his teammates, lest he destroy their bond with overthinking their alternate realities.

There was only one face he could not place.

“I’ll admit, as much as we did want to come see you, we got ulterior motives.” McClain’s statement jerked Sven out of his stupor. Herron and Shorty had the gall to look guilty at the confession. Sven looked on McClain for clarification.

“The head honcho’s askin’ for ya.”

Sven figured that would be the next step in the mission debriefing. Though at a later date seeing as he hasn’t written a field report or even seen Slav since leaving the medical ward. He resigned himself to the sure tongue lashing he and Slav would receive for losing the object of their mission

“Anything you can say now, maybe it’ll help you gather your thoughts for the leader?” Shorty looked up at Sven expectantly as they walked side by side.

“I’m afraid that is all confidential, Shorty,” Sven replied, a swift half-truth.

“I’m just kinda mad that you were the one to get shot,” Herron spoke up from behind, “That you got shot before I did.” 

Sven tries to laugh, to be polite to his friends that have so graciously visited him in his time of need. No matter, Sven’s mind is elsewhere, and Herron’s comment, though, does nothing to sooth his nerves. Sven hates the thought of any of his teammates getting hurt, especially Herron after knowing just how young and worried he could look.

Upon reaching the central communications deck, the crew jokingly gave Sven their last words for him, Sven felt that he needed them. He was a main component in the failed mission, an operation that had been planned for phoebs. What waited on the other side of those doors was either a court martial or a full on dischargement.

“Try and come out in one piece, buddy. We got lunch all set out and I doubt they’ll let us change the reservation to three.” McClain, for all his talk, set a genuine comfort in Sven with a punch to his shoulder

The communications deck was alarmingly empty. Sven could see Slav standing in the middle of the room and a secondary figure under the projection overhead. Before Sven could move towards the figure, a giddiness welling up, a chuff stilled Sven. His full attention was directed to the projection of their organization leader.

Kolivan was an imposing character. A Galra, as rare as it was. The species’ home planet being destroyed thousands of deca-phoebs ago and the race nearly extinct.

It was playfully rumored that the remaining Galra were immortalized all these years later through pure spite. That motivation alone making them some of the best rebel fighters in the whole of the universe.

Sven stilled himself into attention at the observation of the leader, Slav beside him. 

“Lt Holgersson, I understand that you’ve made a significant discovery along with the operation to retrieve the transreality comet-”

“Sir, I- any destruction caused by the losing of the comet, I completely take responsibility-”

“That is not the point here Lt,” Kolivan’s harsh tone stole the words that Sven had. His degreading glare doing so as well.

“Col Slav has already written a formal field report. I am simply asking for your take on events.” Kolivan’s ever present fatigue seeped into his voice, further bringing Sven to the path that would get the meeting over with.

The time Sven took to gather his thoughts didn’t double as time to completely process said events. His explanation was stunted and leaned more towards the philosophical side of reasoning. Everytime they tried to give any detail of the other worlders, he was struck with thoughts of replacing the well worn faces of his friends with the younger, more innocent ones. And again those dark eyes.

“They looked at me and they knew me. I looked at them and did not. They called me by a name that was not mine.” 

Sven sighed.

“Leader, I do not believe... Though we initially shared mistrust…”

The clear thoughts that Sven hoped to articulate were becoming clouded. He couldn’t look past how familiar the otherworlders seemed. He couldn’t think past the otherworlder to immediately disarm, the broken utterance of that unfamiliar name.

With a shuddering breath, Sven met Kolivan’s gaze.

“If they knew me and trusted me, I shall know them and trust them too.”

Kolivan minded Sven with deliberation. He turned his gaze to Slav. The latter didn’t give anything else, most likely written all of his thoughts in the formal field report. Kolivan nodded with finality.

“Slav, you will be expected on the GoG-Uls Ultir within seven quintants. There will be further discussion.”

Without so much as a spoken goodbye, only an inclination of his head, Kolivan ended the video call.

Slav scuttled out of the room, muttering to himself all the way. Sven immediately found his attention drawn to the third figure on the far side of the room. 

The standard Guns of Gamara flight suit in the alternate colors marked him as a member of the private command. The red scarf marked him as Youra.

Youra hadn’t been on the command ship when Sven and Slav left on their mission. Sven had never seen Youra outside of the primary command ship and brief sightings in the heat of battle. There he was though, fiddling with the communications panel. 

Sven made his way up to Youra. His haste betraying his supposed cool demeanor.

Youra, absorbed in copying the video feed from the communications panel to a separate chip, failed to register Sven coming to great him. They both flinched at each other’s appearance.

The two want unmoving for a time, Youra waiting for Sven, and Sven not knowing what to do next. Impulse drove him. The two soldiers’ gaze caught on each other. After a moment, a thin smile stretched on Sven’s face. Youra looked away. His hair and scarf obscuring most of his face, but his eyes displayed all the expression Sven needed. The smile stretched into a grin.

“Hello,” he drawled out. Youra responded with a hesitant inclination of his head.

He had barely spoken to Youra. Swift comments and commands during battle were easy, trapping the man in a full conversation was another matter. The only reason Sven even knew the man’s name was through reviewing field reports. Then there was the matter that Sven had never seen Youra’s face, or rather the majority of his face. His hair must have been strategically cut as to reduce visibility with its thick, dark bangs and uneven slope. The red scarf was snug against his face, covering his lower face.

Sven seemed to be the only one intrigued by the mysterious rebel. Talk of Youra within the team was met with scoffs and quips. Only Sven had any contact with Youra, though McClain claimed to have a sense of familiarity with the other.

Sven never hid is interest in Youra. He admits to spending an absurd amount of time pondering over Youra. 

What species was he? How old was he? How is his family? What would he think of Sven?

In the interim of Sven being held captive in his own head, Youra tucked the newly copied chip into an unseen pocket in his painted on flight suit. Youra made to move around Sven. In a moment of ill advised panic, Sven went to hold Youra by the arms. His grasp drifting to the other’s biceps, and nearly making contact, before Sven further jerked away. 

Youra, startled, equally went out to grip Sven. With Youra’s hands on him, Sven’s histeria waned. Youra was equally as surprised by the sudden contact as Sven was. Their eyes meeting. Youra’s are open and wide, the scarf doing little to hide his obvious confusion at both being grabbed and Sven’s increasingly widening grin. 

Sven’s grey eyes locks onto Youra’s own dark eyes. Sven’s painful smile fades, his face falling.

Those eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for making it this far! I hope my interpretation is interesting enough. Please don't feel scared to drop a comment or something of the like.
> 
> This is really a way to get back into writing for these characters before I commit to editing my full cannon fix-it fic. Send a prompts or request over as well to help get the juices flowing!


End file.
